Tag Archives: humor

Hey guys!! It’s Taylor here and I wanted to tell y’all what a great journey it has been; this whole blogging experience. Unfortunately, as I turned thirteen one minute ago [!!!!!!!], it’s time to deactivate this website -due to the fact that the title AND URL not-so-subtly hint that the author [that’s me] is not yet a teenager-. Forever.

Fear not, though. I mean, I’m not SO cruel as to leave you Taylor-less for the rest of your lives. That’s why I’ve set up a new domain for myself to write stuff on, this time, as a teen. I’ve decided to call it The Klutz Daily [because who represents klutziness more aptly than I do?? I mean, SERIOUSLY]. So go check it out and FOLLOW FOLLOW FOLLOW!! [No pressure, huh??]

Like this:

In exactly twenty-four hours from this very moment, I will be thirteen, and I am FREAKING out!! You can’t expect me to be all calm and collected about this, now can you?? It’s not everyday that one leaves a phase of their childhood forever, and it is definitely something I am not looking forward to.

What do you epect?? That I’d be HAPPY entering a world where hangovers and marijuana are part of the “norm”?? Excuse me, but NO WAY. SpongeBob is still my favourite thing to watch on the TiVo and it’s going to stay like that regardless of my age group.

I can’t believe I just openly admitted that I still like watching yellow bricks of foam walk around in a magical underwater world more than anything else. Sure, it’s only my DIARY, but what if someone gets a hold of this thing?? And think of all the other embarrassing stuff I’ve got written down here. If ANYONE gets an eyeful of this, I will be FORCED to shoot them. Seriously, what OTHER choice do I have??

Wait… I got it!! Along with my brand new, not-in-the-least-welcome title of “Teenager,” shouldn’t I start afresh with a new journal as well?? That way, I wouldn’t have a fit everytime I saw someone holding onto a book that even slightly resembled my diary.

Like this:

Celeb relationships are so hard to follow. I have more important
things to do that bother investigating who’s dating who, of course,
[like acting as Fudge’s official poop picker-upper] but my bud’s
don’t. Whenever we meet up, they spend at least half an hour updating each other about Hollywood’s newest couples;

‘OOOOOO!!! Can you believe THEY BROKE UP????’
‘WHAT??? THEY were so PERFECT TOGETHER!!!’
‘TOTES!!!!’
‘Are you KIDDING me?? How could THEY have separated?? I was so sure HE was going to propose!! And buy a new HER apartment so THEY could live happily ever after in THEIR very own palace!!’
>Chorus of dreamy Sighs<
‘Um… guys??’ –This awkward person talking is me- ‘Who are THEY??’
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!’
‘EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!’
‘NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!’
‘SAY IT AIN’T SO!!!!!!!!’
‘How can you possibly NOT KNOW who THEY are??? You MONSTER!!’
‘Wait…Girls, girls, calm down. Tay, are you saying that you have no idea about who we’re discussing??’
‘Um… No??’
‘Let me give you a hint, they’re the IT couple right now…’
‘Listen guys, the ITTEST couple I’m aware of is Romeo and Juliet…’
>Chuckles to Self<
‘OK. Girls, GET HER!!!!!!!!!!!’
I am not joking. It happens EVERY SINGLE TIME. According to them, I am “abnormal” for not knowing how many times Elizabeth Taylor has
married.
The point is, I decided to do a little researching today. Try to
surprise the relationship gurus. Maybe even beat them at their own
game.
Didn’t happen.
We met up for ice cream at Double Dip and, halfway through my banana
split, I casually said, ‘Hey, have you heard?? THEY are back
together!!’
‘They as in…??’
‘WHAT are you talking about??’
‘Tay, there are SO MANY “Theys” out there. My Mum and Dad are a
“They!!” Gross, but true.’
‘WHO IN THE WORLD ARE YOU REFERRING TO??’
‘Be specific, girl!!’
And that was the last time I am ever going to so much as THINK about
beating the pros at their own sport, especially if a key word of their game is “BradJelina.”

Like this:

Brandy’s flight is delayed by a whole forty-eight hours!!!!!! NO!!!!!!! Why do I always have the worst luck when it comes to EVERYTHING????????? I was looking forward to see her disappear among the airport crowd so much and now I’ll have to wait a whole two days before that happens… Better late than never, though. At least she’s GOING.

Anyway, Mom forced me to come out of my room and have dinner. PHYSICALLY forced. Even after the long-winding speech I gave her about how I can’t possibly bear to see Brandy’s twisted face again. When I refused to open my bedroom door, she BROKE it open.

And OK, that’s an exaggeration. All she REALLY did was dig out the spare key from one of the gazillion drawers in the hall and twist it into the lock, thus exposing me to the rest of the world. But she can’t DO that!! If I want to stay in my parlour till the unfortunate day I expire, shouldn’t I be allowed to do so?? Isn’t that what being a citizen of a liberal country is all about??

But I would’ve kicked myself if I’d skipped tonight’s dinner, because Mom surpassed herself and prepared…

The aromas themselves were enough for me to start drooling. I swear, if my Mom put her mind to it, she can win Master Chef US with her eyes blindfolded.

The only element that spoiled the evening was –you guessed it- Brandy. She ended up making a tremendous pain in the butt of herself and destroying what was supposed to be a relaxed family evening [granted, she IS family, but she sure doesn’t seem like it. I regard her as more of something disgusting my dog leaves behind than a relative].

Anyway, I guess it’s time to go to sleep, even though it isn’t even ten yet. Because Dad and I are going with a few friends of his for a 10-mile run tomorrow morning and I want to be properly fresh and recharged for it. ‘Night!!

Like this:

I’ve managed to avoid glancing at Brandy’s sickly face for the whole of today. That’s because I haven’t gotten out of my room since the time I woke up. At seven.

She’s so nasty that I’d rather stay in my room forever than have to look at her one more time, so nine hours shouldn’t seem like such a task. But it DOES. I am bored stiff, which is entirely unheard of. How can one be bored during one’s VACATIONS?? It’s practically impossible!!

And yet it’s happening to me right now, as I speak.

Which just goes to show that Brandy can drive me to do the impossible.

And surely that can’t be a good thing.

P.S: Can’t WAIT for 6:40 [the time we commence our journey to the airport so that we can bid Brandy farewell…]!!!!!!!!!!!

Like this:

HURRAY!!!!!!!! BRANDY THE FLESH-EATING DEMON IS LEAVING THE COUNTRY TOMORROW!!!!!!!!!!! [preferably forever]

Finally, after all these days of heartache after heartache, I have something to look forward to. Seeing the back of my devilish cousin sister for the last time as she makes her way into the duty free area of the JFK is going to be one of the highlights of my [otherwise sucky] summer.

Talking about holiday highlights, I have exactly one delicious week left before I am part if the party-going, sleep-till noon-ing, parent-back-answering gang, also known as “The Teens.” I shudder to think of the day.

Which is why I have decided to compose a poem in honour of my remaining days as a pre-13 kid;

Twelve Again

What I would give to turn twelve again

To have one year extra still left

Before I start talking back to my ‘rents

And maybe even practising theft

How I wish I hadn’t squandered my time

On unimportant things

Because I’m SO not ready for teenagehood

And everything it brings

Most of my friends are already thirteen

They try to soothe me down

When I start blabbering on being a teen

And my face is set in a frown

But there’s only so much that they can do

So much they can persuade

One cannot fluff up the bed

If it doesn’t want to be made

All I REALLY want to do right now

Is scream; just SCREAM

Because if there’s one thing I don’t want to be

It’s definitely thirteen

Did I SERIOUSLY just compare my buddies inability to convince me that being a year more than twelve isn’t a crime to doing up a BED???

Like this:

NINE DAYS FOR ME TO TURN INTO A RIOTING TEENAGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How the time has flown, huh Dede?? Remember when we first started out and I was a meek [actually, not], law-abiding eleven year old?? And NOW look at me. Little more than a week from turning THIRTEEN!!

You’d be surprised at me saying this, especially after all the exclamation marks that I’ve thrown in, but I seriously do NOT want to begin teenagehood. Not yet, anyway. I mean, it seems like such a big number. 13. Mainly because, at heart, I am still a dishevelled third grader.